The Tales We're Told
by ThatBlueScreenGuy
Summary: Constants and variables. It's always been about constants and variables. Somewhere in creation, Booker drowned and Elizabeth died trying to wipe Comstock out of infinity. But the Lutece's saw what happened. They wished to try again. Only different this time. Infinity is very, very large. At some point, Booker wasn't the one sent after the girl. He was. A new variable. A new ending.
1. Hallelujah

Cold rain spattered against my face, soaking my hair and clothes as the rocking waves beneath me shot up sea spray into the air that set of my tastebuds with their salty contents. A cold wind rushed through my long coat and straight to my bone, the overcast night sky blinding me so thoroughly that I could only see due to the oil lamp the other two occupants of the rowboat had lit for us. I was seated in the back, while the other two took up the seats in the front. They were prattling on about something.

"Are you going to just sit there?" The man asked.

His lady companion responded in kind. "As opposed to what? Standing?"

"Not standing. _Rowing_."

"Ah, rowing. I hadn't planned on it."

"So you expect me to shoulder the burden?"

As the woman responded, she reached back and handed me a small box with an engraved plaque that had my name on it. "No. But I expect you to do all the rowing."

I frowned at the box, taking a peek inside. There were a few cards in the box, one with the picture of a girl on it that had the name 'Elizabeth' written on the top of it, another that looked like a postcard from some place called Monument Island with the image of a giant angel statue on it, and one final one that simply had drawings of a scroll, a sword, and a key on it, with numbers next to them. There were also a few silver coins, a key with a bird on one side of the key's handle and a cage on the other, and a mauser pistol, fully loaded. I looked back up at the woman who had given the box to me. "What's this?"

She ignored me, her male counterpart drawing her back into conversation. "And why is that?"

"Coming here was your idea."

" _My_ idea?"

"I made it very clear that I don't believe in the exercise."

"The rowing?"

"No, I imagine that's wonderful exercise."

"Then what?"

"The entire thought experiment."

The two were practically speaking nonsense at one another to my ears, and I wanted to get wherever it was I was headed so I could get out of this damn cold. My words were probably a bit more snippy than I intended them to be when I said, "Excuse me?" The rain made my voice sound muffled and drowned out. "How much longer? I'd like to get out of this damn rain. I don't have rain coats like you two do."

The two continued talking as though I hadn't said anything. "One goes into an experiment knowing one could fail."

"But one does not undertake an experiment know one already _has_ failed."

"Well, isn't that the point of him? _He_ was a constant, _this_ is the variable."

"Taking the control out of an experiment makes for an improper experiment. You know this."

"As well as you do, yet look at the other verdicts we reached. We hadn't thought to change this until just now."

"As I said. I do not believe in the exercise."

"Can we just get back to the rowing?"

"I suggest you do, or else we'll never get there."

My brow knitted even further at the two in front of me. These hired guides were odd people. "Hello? Someone wanna answer me?"

Again they just went on. I got frustrated enough to where I just sat back and let them talk. Hopefully we'd get there soon enough.

"No, I mean I would greatly appreciate it if you would assist!"

"Perhaps you should ask him. I imagine he has a greater interest in getting there than I do."

"But does he? This is an untested field."

"There is only one way to find out, isn't there?"

"There would be no point to it."

"Why not?"

"Because they never row."

"They never _row_?"

"No, they _never_ row."

"Ah. I see what you mean." Thankfully, _blessedly_ , we reached an offshore lighthouse. The rowboat came to a slow stop, the waves still bobbing it in gyrating motions, at a dock with a ladder reaching down into the sea. "We've arrived."

I shivered, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a tight little ball and try to get warm. But I had to move. Debts to pay, and all that. I stepped up and climbed the ladder to the dock's surface. I turned to face the rowboat, and watched as it began to row away. I could still hear those two talking. I could hear the woman say, "Shall we tell him when we'll be returning?"

"Would that change anything?"

"It might give him some comfort?"

"At least that's something we can agree on."

"Hey!" I shouted after them. Were they seriously about to leave me just blowing in the wind like this with no idea what the hell I was supposed to be doing? "Is somebody meeting me here?"

"I'd certainly hope so!" The man shouted back.

The woman piped in. "It seems like a dreadful place to be stranded!"

And then they kept rowing away.

I stood there for a moment, kind of stunned.

What assholes.

There was another wind that tore through my sopping wet jacket, and I shivered. I tried to draw the coat in closer, only to get marginal success. Time to get into some shelter, then.

I turned to face in towards the little island that the lighthouse was sat upon. It was a small thing, to be so far out. You'd think it would be bigger. As it was, the light at the very top was only just visible from where I stood, the storm almost entirely drowning out the glow. It seemed more like a set piece than an actual lighthouse.

I made my way up the boardwalk and towards the wooden doors of the boardwalk. Nailed right to the front of the thing was a note, partially stained in blood, soaked through with rainwater. On it were the harshly written words of, " _Blackstone, Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt. THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!"_

I gulped to myself. The connotation of the note were clear. Pay off the debt and don't get yourself killed horribly.

Good. Great. I can do that. Kidnap an innocent girl to pay off a debt that I incurred with less than kind folk who will most certainly do nothing good to the girl.

I'm not nervous at all. Or guilty. Not even the slightest bit.

Thunder struck somewhere in the distance, and I remembered how cold I was. I knocked at the door, which caused it to swing open ever so much. "Hello?" I called out, taking a step in. "It's Michael Blackstone! Am I meeting someone here, or…?"

No answer came to me as I stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind me, cutting off the whipping wind that ripped through my jacket.

Inside was much warmer, both in lighting and in comfort. It looked like a very cosy little entryway, with even a rack by the door for hats and jacket. I took mine off and hung it up, letting the rain slide off it and onto the floor. There were some crates and barrels on the far section of the room, a set of stair off to the right, and random things placed all throughout. Directly in front of the door was a large pillar that presumably ran all the way up the lighthouse as a structure support with a small washbasin in front of it with a handsewn message in a frame that read, " _OF THY SINS, SHALL I WASH THEE."_

I stepped up to the basin, still looking around, rubbing my arms to shake the cold out. I took a look in the basin, and simply saw my own reflection. Unkempt hair that looked like it need to be cut, slight stubble growing on my cheeks and jaw, sharp features, and green eyes that look almost light dollar bills. Then I looked up and read the message on the tapestry again. "That'll be the day," I muttered. I then made my way up the stairs. There was another cross stitch frame on the wall leading up the stairs. " _FROM SODOM, SHALL I LEAD THEE."_ It read.

More stairs further up.

I reached another room, one that looked much more lived in. Bed and a desk and dressers and drawers and a small kitchen area. Above the desk was a map of the U.S. with red yarn trailing from one city to another to another and looped back around to the beginning, a point in Maine, by the look of it. There was a note next to it on a yellow sticky note. " _BE PREPARED. HE IS ON HIS WAY. YOU MUST STOP HIM. -C"_

Who was 'he'? Me? I really hope it wasn't me. I'd hate to be so predictable.

I then looked at some of the points on the map, trying to remember if I had found my way to some of those places.

Well, I was in Maine now, so that made sense. Then there was New Jersey, Virginia, Georgia, Louisiana, Arizona, Colorado. I don't remember being to…

My head went fuzzy for a little moment, memories flooding into my head.

Business. I went to those places on business. Yeah. That's it. Pinkertons need people all over the place. Makes sense. I remember now.

Something hot and runny leaked down my lips, and I reached a hand up to see. I pulled fingers away crimson with blood. Must have a nose bleed…

I shook my head and carried on, noting as I did the other cross stitch on this floor. _"TO THINE OWN LAND, SHALL I TAKE THEE."_

I went up to the next floor, and immediately wished that I hadn't.

Tied to a chair with a bag over his head was the slack form of a man who had clearly been shot in the head. Blood was obviously visible staining the bag, and more of the stuff ran down his shirt and pants, pooling onto the floor. There was a sign around his neck that read, " _DO NOT FAIL US."_

"Hell's Bells…"

I really hope that message isn't for me.

I _really really_ do.

I grimaced as I made my way past the man, heading to the final set of stairs. There was one final bit of cross stitching on the wall that read, " _IN NEW EDEN SOIL, SHALL I PLANT THEE."_

 _Soil that runs red, no doubt,_ I thought, making my way past it.

I made my way up and out into the catwalk that surrounds the light proper, suddenly shivering at the whirling winds and the icy rain. I abruptly wished that I hadn't left my coat on the rack at the bottom. But I was already here, so I figured I might as well see what there is to see, then get back inside.

And there really wasn't much to see for the vast majority of the catwalk. Simply open space that overlooked the churning sea below. However, when I got the the part of the lighthouse that should have had the door that lead into the section where the bulb was spinning, there was simply a metal wall with three bells hanging from it, with lights above each of the bells.

Confused, I took a closer look, noticing the little engravings on each of the bells. One with a scroll, one with a sword, and the final with a key.

Something clicked in my brain. "Wait a minute…" I fished into my pockets to find that card with the little symbols that I had gotten from that box those weird twins gave me. On the card was the same three symbols; the scroll, the sword, and the key. But these had numbers next to each of them. The scroll- one. The sword- two. The key- two.

I stared at it for a moment, then got what I was probably meant to do. I reached up and rung the scroll bell once. It dinged pleasantly, and the light above the bell began to glow. Then I hit the sword twice. The same happened. I finished it off with the bell with the key on it. The light above this one, as well, lit up.

I stood there wait, taking a step back to see if there was something I was missing. Nothing happened for a few moments. "What am I-"

Suddenly the lighthouse light started to flash as well, but there were slight tones as it flashed. Once in one tone, then went up and flashed twice in a different one. It then finished in a third tone, flashed twice once again.

I waited expectantly. Nothing happened some more.

"What the fu-"

Then there was ungodly noise as the sky pulsed red.

Something in me screamed in terror, and I got down low in an instinct to find some cover. The sky pulsed again, twice, then waited a beat, and pulsed twice more. The lighthouse seemed to respond in kind, flashing again in the same pattern. Then the sky roared once more, the light through the clouds bleeding red.

Then it stopped, the only sounds being the storm around me and my heart trying to tear its way out of my chest. The metal wall where the bells were hanging lowered down as the bulb in the lighthouse did the same, opening up and being replaced with a red velvet chair.

I breathed heavily. That was not a good sound. Like Hell itself trying to reach from the Beyond and grab you, only coming from the damn sky. What the actual shit was that?

The chair sat under the cover of the glass canopy, warm-looking and inviting.

"Okay…" I said hesitantly. "I guess… I should sit in the chair?"

I carefully crept forward, looking out for anything else that might cause the world to briefly end. I couldn't find anything like that, which made me only feel a little bit better. I slowly sat into the chair.

"Alright," I said to myself as I was fully seated. "Nothing is trying to end you just yet. It's just a chair. Comfy. Warm. Dry, which is very nice. You're oka-"

Metal restraints flipped over the edges of the armrests and clamped over my wrists.

"Oh fuck me running."

The soothing voice of a woman in recording played throughout the air. " _Make yourself ready, pilgrim. The bindings are there as a safeguard."_

"No, no, no!" I muttered to myself, panicked. Then to make things even more anxiety inducing, the chair and the walls began to move as metal sections rose up from the ground and the chair turned over so that I faced the floor.

And suddenly there were rocket boosters beneath me.

As the pistol I had tucked into my pants fell out and between the boosters, all I could say was, "What the shit, man?!" Then I leveled out and was face to face with a small window out to see the world.

" _Ascension,"_ the voice said, " _Ascension in the count of five. Count of four. Three…"_

"No, no, please don't do that, please!"

" _Two. One."_

"Crap!"

Then the thrusters went off.

I felt the inertia as I was torn through the sky, clouds of grey and white whipping past the window before me. My heart started racing again and panic was soon to follow. "Stay calm, Michael. Calm. Stay calm."

The voice from before kept on talking. " _Ascension, ascension. Five thousand feet. Ten thousand feet. Fifteen thousand feet."_

I could feel the thrust of the engine start to give out, and I was terrified I was about to fall out of the sky in a metal box that would drown me as soon as I hit water. You know, assuming the impact itself didn't kill me.

Then the clouds broke.

" _Hallelujah."_

* * *

 **A/N: There's something about Bioshock OC inserts that interest me. The majority that I've read so far do something very... Simple. They take the game and rewrite it. The only difference between the cannon material is the main character, some key lines every now and then, some slight variations, a small but ultimately inconsequential twist here and there that doesn't really change much of anything, and romances that feel somewhat rushed and stiff. I'm not going to say they're bad. Some of them could use a revision or two in so far as actual writing structure, but they aren't bad. They're just... Simple.**

 **I could take at least three different fics that I've read on this sight, make all the names of the characters the same name, and it would practically feel like I'm reading the same fic. Hell, two of them had the exact same line in them at the exact same scene in the exact same context.**

 **I don't hate these fics. I just want more from them.**

 **So, that's why I'm here writing this. In one of my other stories, a reviewer said something that I know to be true. "The point of an OC in a game world is to change things. Not tell the same story with an added character."**

 **So. Here's what we're gonna do. Take everything you know about Bioshock Infinite's story. Got that? Now throw it out the nearest window.**

 **I plan on retelling the story of this game that I love. Make things different. See what happens when I take a character I've already developed (Shameless plug to my other story _Arcane Effect: Life is Hard_ here), and let him run around in Columbia for a while.**

 **Some things will be similar. Some of them have to be. But other things will be different.**

 **Prediction: _most_ things up until Monument Island will be similar as in the game.**

 **Wanna go for a ride, everyone?**

 **~ThatBlueScreenGuy**


	2. Baptism

The rocket landed with a weighty thud, the hiss of depressurizing air escaping as the front hatch opened up. I sat in the chair as the clamps around my wrists loosened and fell back over the armrests. My jaw was hanging perhaps a bit looser than I would have liked.

So.

Flying cities.

That's new.

I sighed to myself, slouching a bit in my seat. Life certainly knows how to take a turn, doesn't it?

Hi. I'm Michael Blackstone. Given the whole 'shot into the sky via kidnapping rocket' thing, there has been much time for introductions. But that's life, isn't it? Always taking you places you never thought you'd be. For example, I thought that I would live and die in… In New York, working as a PI like I did. But you do one stupid thing, and suddenly half the loan sharks in all the boroughs want you to sell them your firstborn child or something.

Now, when someone comes to you and says that they have a way to absolve all your debt, how is one supposed to react? Hopefulness, one would image. Naively stupid, sure, but hopeful! And when they say that all you have to do is one small little favor that'll take you a short trip just off the coast of Maine, you'd think it be a vacation. But then those people add in the little caveat that you have to essentially steal a girl away from her home. That shines a different light on it, doesn't it? And then you add the fact that when I get here, there's a dead man in the lighthouse and a rocket that shoots me up into a _flying fucking city_ , the whole deal just begins to stink more and more.

Sitting in that chair, staring at the huge stain glass window with the picture of a bearded man majestically lit by the sun, I began to vastly regret taking this job.

You get a gut feeling, sometimes, that you are way out of you depth? That you really should have just turned around and make a break as fast as you could manage to the other side of the country- or, hell, the world? That feeling deep in the pits of your instincts that tells you, in no uncertain terms, that you've made a poor decision going somewhere, and that you'd do best to go home and curl up into a little ball?

That's me, right in this moment.

I really shouldn't have come here.

But I was here. And I was never one to leave a job half finished.

So, I got up and took the few steps down from the rocket.

And stepped right into an ankle deep pool of water.

I looked down, noticing that the entire floor was flooded, with candles bobbing as the ripples of my step rode through the water. "Oh," I said to myself. "That's just great. Real fantastic." Then I looked longsufferingly up at the ceiling and sighed. "Well. I'm already soaked as it is. Might as well keep going."

So I did.

* * *

The further I made my way into wherever the hell it is I am, the more the place looked like a church.

The entire floor was still flooded with water. The only dry spots that I was able to find was a few elevated daises with paintings of a man or a woman in what were obviously places of honor, with stands for candles to be lit beneath the paintings. There were pews and kneeling booths, and even a confessional off in one of the corners. There were flowers and little offerings at some of the altars, and the sunlight poured through more of stain glass than I had ever seen in one place.

And the place had multiple layers, too.

I reached a set of stairs where a man dressed in a white robe was waiting nearby. The water ran down the staircase, yet somehow there seemed to be an even level of water on this upper floor despite it. I walked up to the man, staring down a floor, and asked, "Excuse me, sir? Where am I?"

He smiled at me a kind of smile that's usually reserved for children who as a particularly smart question. I didn't like that smile. "Heaven, friend. Or at least as close to it as you'll get until Judgement Day."

I gave him an odd look and walked down the stairs. _Okay,_ I thought to myself. _Careful with the questions. Don't want anyone catching on you have no idea where the shit you are._

As I descended the water flooded steps, I began to hear something. Voices joined together in a simple chorus hymn that floated through the air softly and tickled the ear with the faith and hope of those that sang it.

" _Will the circle be unbroken,"_ they sang. It made me want to stop and close my eyes and just listen and do nothing else. It felt like the gentle touch of comfort a mother would give her child, the warmth of a fire in the dead of winter, the light of a candle in the night. _"By and by. By and by."_

I don't really believe in God. Oh, don't mistake my meaning, I think He's real. I just… I can't put my faith in a man, a _father_ , that lets His children run and destroy as we do, while He simply sits on His throne on high in paradise doing nothing. That isn't the kind of man that I want to follow. But there are moments, sometimes, when I feel it, you know? What it must be like for true believers to have the warmth of a God that cares for them flow through their being. It's almost enough to make a guy believe, sometimes.

" _Is a better home awaiting, in the sky, oh in the sky?"_

 _I felt the heat of the fire burn in me, through me and throughout me. Screams and scents of charred flesh filled the air. The world came to a standstill as I lived that moment forever, until there was nothing left._

But then I remember the world. How broken it can be. How hopeless it can be. How people live and die needlessly, where the good can suffer and evil can triumph. Crimes go unpunished and the price for good deeds is heavy. And I think of the man who made that world. And the want to believe goes away.

"It touches you, doesn't it?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and turned towards the voice, looking up the stairs at the man who had been waiting at their top. "Sorry, what?"

He smiled at me, that same smile I can't stand. "The chorus, the singing. You've been standing there for a few minutes, just listening to it. It touches you, makes you feel Him, doesn't it?"

I stared at him for a moment. "Yes," I said. "I suppose it does, in a way."

He kept smiling at me. "You've come to the right city then, friend. Columbia is the place His true children can get away from the Sodom below as we wait for Judgement."

"Judgement," I repeated. "And what if the things we've done are too much for paradise?"

"There is no sin too great that cannot be forgiven, friend," he told me. "One needs only the breath to ask." He gestured down the stairs. "Follow the waters. The Father is giving a sermon today. Perhaps he can ease your troubled mind. A true baptism in the waters of Columbia in the sight of our Prophet has a way of putting doubts to rest."

I nodded slowly. "Maybe so. Maybe so."

He smiled again. I wanted to punch him.

Instead, I simply continued down the steps, toward the hymn that hadn't stopped flowing through the air. As the chorus continued to sing, the words began to sound more and more hollow.

I made my way down to the bottom of the steps and stepped into a more cavernous room with pillars and arches made of stone, and stain glass scattered throughout. There were entire lanes sectioned off my more stone that let the water that was flowing from the upper level gather to a height that reached my lower thigh. The water was cool to the touch, and more candles bobbed at the sides of the lane I found myself in. At the end of the room ahead of me, I could see a gathering of people around a more open area of the room, where all the waters lead to. Men and women alike, they all wore the same white robe, only with the women wearing a matching headpiece.

The singing, I noticed, had turned into humming, and there was a voice that broke above them all, speaking in a heartfelt tone. "And every year on this day," the voice spoke, "we recommit ourselves to our city, to our Prophet, Father Comstock! We recommit through sacrifice, and the giving of thanks, and by submerging ourselves in the sweet water of baptism!"

I made my way forward as he spoke, letting his words fall on deaf ears for me. What he was saying didn't make much sense to me anyway. As I got to the group, I gently pushed my way to the front, and a man in black robe with a white cleric's collar noticed the movement.

"Is it someone new?" He asked to the congregation. "Someone from the Sodom below? Newly come to Columbia to be washed clean before our Prophet, our Founders, and our Lord?"

I looked around and saw everyone staring at me. "I just need a way into the city," I told the Father.

He laughed at that, and the crowd murmured mirth with him. "A way into the city? Brother, the only way to Columbia is through rebirth in the sweet waters of baptism" He then reached a hand out to me, waiting for me to step into the lower pool with him, the sunlight backdrop behind him promising the city he hid beyond the waters.

The rest of the crowd tried to push me forward. "Hallelujah!" One said. There was also a "Glory be!", and a, "Reach out, brother!", among a few others.

I kept looking around, at the people in the prayer circle, then at the Father with his hand still reaching towards me, then around the room for any other way into the city I could find.

When I didn't see one, I reached out to grab the Father's hand. _It's either the water or the rocket. And fuck that rocket._ The Father gripped my hand tightly in his.

The Father then yanked me forward to be on the same plane as him, where the rest of the circle could see the two of us. I let out an indigent "Hey!", but he just went on with the little ceremony. "I baptize you in the name of our Prophet, in the name of our Founders, in the name of our _Lord_! And let him be born again, in the bosom of Columbia!"

Then he dunked me, catching me wholly off guard.

Water flooded my lungs, depriving me of the air I needed, and I struggled against the priest. He had done this before, apparently, because he grip remained tight and held me down for a three count that lasted far longer than I would have liked.

Then he pulled me up, giving me a critical gaze as I sputtered and coughed water out of my throat. "I don't know, brothers and sisters," I heard him say to the group at large. "This one just doesn't look clean yet…" Then he thrust me back under the water before I could catch my breath again.

The water felt colder, this time, as I struggled more and more. But the longer I stayed under, the less strength I had to fight and the more air I lost as I did. Blackness started to creep up on my vision, until it swallowed me whole.

Despite what little he's done for the world, God might be good. But people aren't.

* * *

 _I was face first on a metal floor, one of my eyes crusted shut by dried blood that leaked down a massive cut at my brow. I breathed heavily as I push myself to my feet, more cuts and bruises making themselves known with the movement._

 _I looked around. I was back in my office. The blue-grey metal walls and floor, the fluorescent lights overhead, my shitty little desk, and the door that lead to a room off to the side._

 _But this wasn't right. This wasn't my office. It wasn't… It's not…_

 _Then the image changed, turning into an office you'd expect to find in the early 1900's as though it had never been anything but. Wood floors, wallpaper, wood trims on the walls, and an office entrance with its smoky glass that had my name on it._

 _Someone knocked at the door. With each pound of their fist, there was fire. It flashed, heat singeing as it came, then went away just as quickly as it came. The room was on fire._

 _But… No, it wasn't. Not yet. Not… When…_

 _What?_

 _Then there was a voice from beyond the door, distorted and evil. "Bring us the girl and wipe away the debt!" It cried. More knocking. More fire that couldn't be._

" _I don't…" I slurred. My vision shifted and wavered. Concussion. "I don't want your deal! I can… This is enough, alright?! Two was enough!"_

 _More pounding. More fire._

 _I drunkenly stumbled my way over to the door and threw it open._

 _Outside, I saw New York. And it was on fire._

 _But it couldn't be. The fire… The fire was here._

 _No. It wasn't._

What?

 _I could see a flying city off in the distance, silhouetted by a sun that burned too red._

 _Then there was a hand on my shoulder, and a calm angelic man's voice asking, "Where have you gone?"_

I awoke spitting up water.


	3. Wonder

"Our Lord drowns us in waters, so that we may better love the air."

Clearly, _you've_ never been drowned before, asshole.

I passed the praying man, giving him the look I only save for people who I want to strangle. That shit'll teach you to love the air, alright…

I shook my head. "Everywhere you go, you'll always find crazy." I looked around the garden that I had been dumped in as I made my way toward a set of doors that I hoped would lead me into the city proper. "Something tells me that I'm gonna find more crazy here than usual…" I walked past more praying people, who kept muttering something about a scroll, a key, and a sword.

Actually, that was the weird thing about this place, I've found. For some reason, they've got it in their heads to worship three of the American founding fathers; Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin. How it is that they came to worship non-religious figures like that, I have no idea. Honestly, I'm not sure all of the symbolism makes sense, but that's just me, I guess. Apparently, enough people here believe it for there to be an entire church dedicated to it, so what the hell do I know, right?

I pushed the door wide open, the sunlight coming directly into my face and blinding me. When it cleared…

Holy hell.

The place was like… Like nothing I had ever seen before.

Clean cobble streets led into a rotunda with the greenest grass I had seen in a long time, with a large marble statue of the man depicted in the stain glass back in the church, his beard and clothes flowing majestically. He held his arms out wide in what almost seemed like a gesture of showing off, as if to say, " _This, all of this, this is mine."_

The crisp blue sky shone overhead as an entire _building_ started to float down from above. What I had though was a barrier on one end of the street lowered into a connector for the flying building to settle into, and then a man just _came out_ , as if what had just happened wasn't totally impossible.

People walked to and fro, all of them dressed prim and proper, all of them noticeably _white_ , as they went about the beautiful summer's day like they weren't all walking and living in a scientific miracle. Everyone nodded as they passed me, pleasant smiles gracing their faces as they walked, some of them arm in arm, some of them alone, some of them in family groups.

I made my way into the rotunda, almost stunned by what I was looking at. It was all very, very beautiful, the kind of place you could simply sit down and stay awhile in and just watch as the people walked by. You'd probably never see the same happenings twice in this little plaza.

I shook my head. Gotta stay focused. Get the girl. Get out. Do your job.

I looked around the open space, listening to all the pleasant, almost useless chatter around me, and saw a street that stretched off from the plaza area, half of the road blocked by a horse drawn carriage. I headed that way, past some children who played in the puddle made by an open fire hydrant.

The horse was made of metal.

White polished metal trimmed in gold, with glowing yellow eyes that stared off blankly at nothing. The back two legs were entirely replaced by large wheels, and there was a metal protrusion sticking out of the back of the machine that sparked blue with electricity. The entire thing was hitched to a cart being reined by what seemed to be a policeman.

He smiled and tipped his hat to me.

I stared for a few moments, then shook my head again and walked away.

I continued on the street until I reached some kind of roadblock with a small crowd of people around it. I overheard one of them muttering something about a fair that they wanted to get to.

And that's when the parade came ambling through.

There was a small gap of open air (that probably led all the way down to the Atlantic) separating this street from another hovering nearby, and in this gap were various floats, all of them taking the term too literally, that lazily ambled by. With them accompanied a recording, telling the story of the man known as Father Comstock, the Prophet, and how he came to found the city. There was also something about a lamb in there, but I couldn't really tell what that meant.

The street on the far side lowered as the parade passed and settled snugly with the one I was on. The crowd began to move, and I went with it, walking for a few minutes before I reached a very small grass park-like area. I sat down on one of the benches, looking out at the vast blue that seemed to go on forever.

Okay. So. This place is crazy, in a lot of ways. I suppose I should have figured as much from the outset, given the fact that the only apparent way to get here is by a fucking rocket. Electric horses, flying buildings, and no doubt various other things that would freak me the hell out seeing.

 _Get over it. You need to get over it right now._

Right.

If I stopped to gape at something that I had never seen before for the rest of my stay here, it would take an infinitely longer amount of time than if I were to just take it in stride. Compartmentalize. Take it in stride. See, understand, get over it.

Move on. The place clearly has a lot in store, and you aren't careful, a whole world of hell will no doubt be unleashed on you.

Get. Over. It.

It didn't help any that a floating barge just came up from the ledge to the edge of the world with a goddamn barbershop quartet on it, all of whom were singing. Next to them was a sign with a little stylized bee on it that read, "God Only Knows," with the production company listed in the smaller print.

Then something clicked in my head, and I stared at them once more.

I know, I know. Move on, get over it, right?

But something was wrong.

I couldn't tell you for the life of me what it was that was setting me off, yet _something_ was wrong here. I mean, the song was well performed, had pleasant lyrics and a melody that seemed like it'd stick in your head. But something was setting the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

I know this song. I _know I do_.

Something hot rolled down my face. I reached up.

Another nosebleed.

No, this is the first time I've heard this song. Yet… I know it.

What the hell?

As the quartet finished their rendition, the barge engine hummed audibly and lifted itself into the air, carrying the singers off.

From then on, something about the city seemed very wrong.

* * *

I passed a large open arch, staring up at a large statue of an angel holding out her hand, backlit by magnificent god rays from the sun. I pulled out one of the cards that I had been given from that box those twins gave me and looked at the picture on the front of it. It was the same angel as before, with the stylized caption that said 'MONUMENT ISLAND'.

I replaced the card back in my pocket and stared back up at the statue. "Okay," I told myself. "That's where I'm going."

"Telegram for you, sir!"

I started at the sudden voice, snapping my attention downward. In front of me was a small child that was holding out a slip of paper toward me. "Telegram for you, Mr. Blackstone!"

"Uh," was all I could really say, taking the paper in hand. Then the kid ran off before I could ask him anything. I watched him go, muttering to myself, "Who would know that I'm here…"

I turned my attention to the telegram.

"Blackstone STOP. Do not alert Comstock to your presence STOP. Whatever you do, do not pick #77 STOP. Or do STOP. -Lutece."

I furrowed my brow at the note. "Well, what the hell does that mean? Should I pick 77? Or should I not? And 77 what?" I shook my head. "Unhelpful." I pocketed the thing and kept going.

I spotted a nearby telescope and approached it, thinking that it might do me some good to see if I can't scout out that tower before I get there. Might see something that'll turn out useful. If not, then I've wasted nothing but a few minutes.

I lean forward and take a look into the thing, getting a much more intimate look at the tower. From the angle that I'm staring at, though, there's nothing all that helpful. The thing was huge, of course, and made of some kind of brass looking material. There didn't seem to be any outside structures attached to the body of the statue, no entrances or scaffolds or the like, so I'd have to hope that my entrance is at the bottom and not the top, accessible only from one of those flying barges.

A brief flicker of movement across the telescope's lense drew my attention a bit more downard, down to a lower street near me, where I could see a man juggling for the amusement of a woman. They both wore tan colored dress clothes, and both had reddish brown hair.

And they both looked familiar.

I hadn't gotten a good look at them the first time, but it might just be…

I tore my gaze away from the telescope to get a naked eyed view of them on the street below me, only to see that the spot where they had been was completely empty.

What the hell?

I looked back in the telescope, turning to view that same spot, only to see that yes indeed, the spot was completely empty.

I slowly stood from the telescope, taking a step or two back, thoroughly confused.

Okay. Either I'm crazy, or this freaky ass city is.

* * *

After a bit more walking, I reached that fair I overheard that couple talking about earlier.

The first sight to strike me as I walked up the stairs that led to the fairgrounds with all the games was a single display. In it, there was a man on a five foot raised dais in a well kept suit, hawking a ware that was… Less than normal.

On the ground, there were two men, both dressed in what looked to be devil-esque costumes with long, sharp looking noses on their masks and ruffled collars to accompany the rest of their red ensamble. The one on the left had what looked like blue, glowing crystals growing out of his hands and arms. The growths looked like they should be painful, especially considering that they were shooting _goddamn lightning_ out of them. And yet, he looked unharmed. Not only that, he looked to be controlling the damn stuff, with bolts arcing from one hand to the other any time he flicked his wrists.

The other was no different, except instead of lightning infused crystals dotting his flesh, he looked to have flashes of ember and heat emanate from his hands. He looked like he should be burning to ash from the flames that seemed to be coming from _inside_ his body, yet there he was, with open fucking flames in his outstretched hand, twirling his hands around for all the audience to see.

I stopped and stared, my mouth agape at the sight.

By all rights, these men should be fucking _dead_. What the hell was going on?

I walked up to the booth, having to find out what the hell was going on here. I got near the dais and grabbed the attention of the man shouting at the top of it. "Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

"- and should you ever need those heavy boxes moved when your man isn't around to do the hard work for you, ladies? Bucking Bronco is the Vigor for you!" He stopped and blinked at the sound of my voice, turning down to look at me. "Yes, my good man, what can this humble representative of the Fink Manufacturing do for you? Have you question- Dare I even say, _doubts!_ \- about the magnificent, nature-defying wonders you see before you?!" The man's moustached upper lip seemed to quiver for a moment in anticipation.

Okay, guy. Laying it on a bit thick, yeah? "I do have questions. A question, specifically. I've never seen anything like that before, a man throwing around fire like it's a ball. How in God's name is he able to do that?"

The spokesman laughed. "Why, it's exactly because it's in God's name that he's able to do such things, my friend!" He turned to address the crowd, keeping the sales pitch going. "Why, some even say that our Lord spoke to the Prophet himself to share these secrets with his close, good friend, Mr. Fink! But this is no magic, no sir! And you don't need to be a Prophet to wield this power! All you need is a handy Vigor made by Fink Industries, available at any _Veni! Vidi! Vigor!_ station throughout all of Columbia!"

Okay… Doesn't really answer my question. "So, it's science or something?"

"Science of the highest caliber, brought to you by the best scientists Columbia has to offer! Whether you need a flame to light a cigarette, the power to keep your lights on at night, or the strength to move any and all weights that you can find, Fink brand Vigors are the ones for you! Free samples of our latest scientific wonder further inside the fairgrounds!" Then he went further and further into the pitch, his focus back on the crowd at large, who all 'oohed' and 'aahed' at the appropriate moments.

That told me nothing about much of anything, though I guess I had a bit of a better understanding as to how these things worked at the end of the day.

It was science. I probably wouldn't understand the technicals anyway. Superpowers in a bottle. Groovy.

I went further into the fairgrounds, noting all the other booths that seemed to be pushing various games and things on display. Some were simple shooting games, although there were a few with racial undertones that I didn't care to think too deeply into. There was a man displaying something called a voxophone, this record device that let you store your voice on a record yourself so you could play it back any time you wanted. Then there was the one with what was called the Handyman on display.

It was a large stage with a massive metal monstrosity, shaped like a human, but every shape of him was exaggerated and deformed in their metal form. The hands were too massive, the legs too small, having the beast hunch over in an ape-like slouch. The only flesh that could be seen on the thing was the bald pate head poking out at the top, and a large beating heart encased in glass, centered right on the chest, pulsing and dancing in agony with each beat.

There was a man in the crowd with a camera stand and a flash bulb, taking pictures. With each flash of the bulb, the metal man flinched in terror away from the light. There was a man standing next to the beast on stage, dressed similarly as the man who was hawking the Vigors from earlier, saying various things about the, "Splendor and strength of the wonder that is the Handyman!"

But I looked on at the beast, the _man_ trapped in that monster of metal. I didn't see a wonder as the rest of the crowd. There was something so terribly wrong with this.

The Handyman, in the brief moment when there wasn't the flash of a picture being taken, turned its head and stared right at me.

I looked him dead in the eye, his brown meeting my green. I saw in that moment a flash, just a moment, of the constant pain being encased in a superheated metal body that he was forced to live in. The hypersensitivity of being blinded to anything other than the darkest dark. The terrible, perpetual fatigue of every heartbeat, which only continued the terror that was his unrelenting life.

Those eyes that stared at me, almost begging for something, made me turn my head in shame and walk away.

I don't know why I felt ashamed. I hadn't done this to that man, I didn't make him into the monster that was being paraded around for the amusement of others. Yet that utter sadness in that man's eyes made me flinch away from him.

I looked around the rest of the fair, and suddenly the wonders and bright colors of the city seemed not only wrong, but somehow horrifying.

"Free sample, mister!"

I blinked out of my stupor and turned to faced a pretty young woman with a wicker basket looped with a leather strap over the back of her neck and help aloft down the front. Inside the basket, there were a number of green bottles of some kind with a heart shaped stopper on top. "Sorry, what?"

She gestured a hand at the gate just some feet away with a big robotic man dressed as a carnival barker blocking the way. She smiled. "Want to get to the raffle? The metal men bringing you down, mister? Try some Possession, and all their ears will be turned on you."

I snorted. "Possession, huh? You with that crazy guy back at the fair entrance? The one with the super powers or whatever?"

"Fink Manufacturing, yes sir, mister!" She beamed a pearly white smile at me. "Free samples for anyone who wants to try out the latest batch of Vigors to come out! Come on, mister." She gave me a coy little smile. "What's one little taste? Might enjoy what you've found."

I gave her an interested look, humming a bit. "Well. When you put it like that." I reached in the little basket to grab one of the bottles. On the front label there was a reddish pink heart with a green curved dagger piercing the heart. The bottle itself was a glowing green shade with the top of the bottle itself being crafted into the shape of a lovely woman lounging back in a loose toga-like wear. I looked back at the young woman. "Just gotta drink it, then?"

She game me another beatific smile and nodded.

I bobbed my head. "Well, bottom's up." Then I downed the whole thing. I handed the woman the bottle. She just smiled at me, waiting for something from me.

I gave her a look. "Wha-" Then something kicked me in my gut as hard as anything I had ever felt before. Green began to flash at the sides of my vision, encroaching into a tunnel around my eyes, and the woman in front of me began to say something. What she was saying was entirely lost to the caressing whispers that I began to hear within my head. She then brought her hands up, index fingers out, and drew the two sides of a heart shape, with some kinds of green trails following the fingers, actually drawing the shape in the air. The green at the edges of my sight turned to black and the woman blew me a kiss. Everything blurred. The black filled my vision for a solid beat.

Then it was over, and I was standing there breathing hard, staring at this woman in utter shock, maybe a little terror.

"What," I said between breaths. "What the hell was that?"

She gave me that beaming smile. "That's Possession, mister!"

"What the fuck did you do to me? What the hell did I just see?!" My shock and slight terror began to turn into anger. I was afraid. I didn't like being afraid.

"Nothing bad, mister, I promise! That's just the Vigor working its magic! Go ahead and try it!"

I gave her a scowl. I had tripped balls so hard that I nearly fainted. Nothing bad? She must be fucking crazy.

 _Hell, you're the fool who drank the shit. Maybe it did work. No going back now, anyway, if it did._

I hated it when I was right, sometimes. Takes the head out of my anger real quick most days. Well, nothing else to do, yeah? I turned away from the smiling woman, my scowl not leaving my face in the slightest. I stalked over to the ticket booth robot that was blocking my way forward. "Sorry!" It told me. "The raffle's all sold out! No more room! You hear? There is no more room!"

Something tingled in my left hand and I brought it to my sight. A dull green shimmering glow cascaded down my skin from my fingertips and faded into nothing as it reached my wrist as a ghastly figure of the same color quickly swirled its way up my hand and beyond my fingers, disappearing once it reached the top.

I blinked hard at my hand, thinking it was some kind of residual hallucination. The glow went away after I opened my eyes. I could still feel that tingle under my skin, though, and it began to build as I turned my attention back to the raffle-bot.

Something in my instincts demanded something of me, and I deftly flicked my left wrist up and toward the bot, the tingle coming to a crescendo at the apex of the motion. There was a sudden rush of energy through the air as that same green ghost that had spiralled around my hand surged forward, now at a full human size, leaving a trail of wispy green behind as it went. It impacted with the bot with a puff of energy, and I could hear gears underneath the metal working and shifting as the surface pulsed through with that same sickly green. The pulse stopped after a second, though the eyes of the bot remained that same color as it turned its attention to me.

"Well, I'll be! Councilman Beuford! We weren't expecting to see you today! Please go right ahead in! Odd… I didn't recognize you the first time!" And then the gate opened.

I stared at the gate, my eyes wide. Then I forced myself to shake my head.

 _Remember. Don't gawk. Wasting time. You need to go. Get the girl._

I nodded to myself. Right. Keep moving. Marvel at the world when you have the time. I'm on the clock.

I pushed forward through the gate, hearing a, "Enjoy the raffle, mister!" from the woman behind me.

And walked right into those damned twins again.


	4. Stoning

"You two again," I said. My eyes began to squint at them in suspicion. There was something hinky with these two, but I couldn't say what. Other than the obvious getting-around-faster-than-should-be-possible thing. They seemed to be a perpetual one step ahead of me, and I didn't at all like it.

They were both just standing there, smug as you please, in the beige suits of theirs. The man, though, had one of those body signs with chalkboard on either face that seemed to have a tally chart. One side had 'Heads' as the header and the other had 'Tails'. There were a crap ton more heads tallies than tails, which had none. The woman appeared no different, though she held a fine china plate towards me with a single silver coin on it.

"Heads," the man said to me.

The woman responded in kind. "Or tails."

"Or perhaps heads."

"Maybe tails."

They seemed to be more competing with each other than they were speaking to me. "What the hell are you two talking about? What the hell is going on here? Who are you two?"

"Flip," the man told me. "Heads or tails."

"Tails or heads."

Then they both spoke in unison. "A matter of perspective."

"A constant."

"A variable."

"I'd be very interested to see."

The woman pushed the plate closer to me. "So please, if you would. And do hurry, the raffle begins in a few minutes. Don't be late."

I scowled at the two, more confused than ever, as my hand took the coin between my fingers almost without me telling them to. I stared down at the piece of silver, considering it, spinning it between my fingers. On one side, a depiction of an older bearded man, presumably this prophet guy everyone seemed so jazzed about. On the other side, there was a depiction of a large eagle with its wide wings spread open, it's beak apart in its avian screech.

Heads or tails.

Not like it matters, anyway.

"Heads." I flipped the thing into the air, aiming for back on the plate.

It landed heads.

The woman hummed in interest. "Perhaps we might begin a new accounting. Differed constants require differed data pools."

The man bobbed his head in allowance. "Still. Some constants truly are universal."

The two began to walk off down the stairs that led into the street, and they turned a corner as the woman responded. "But it is not an established constant. One demarcation in favor of a previously established proof means nothing within the context of the experiment as a whole, as we have no way of knowing which of the constants and variables change when the control changes as well."

The man began a reply as they turned a corner, but my hearing got cut off as they rounded out of my sight. "Hey!" I shouted after them belatedly. "Wait!" I ran behind, turning after them down the open and empty street ahead of me.

I round the corner to see no one there. I don't hear the pair anywhere. All I see is the street ahead of me, which ends some yards off in a fence and more piercing blue sky with wisps of clouds. My confusion only grew as I walked at speed down the street, checking the nooks and crannies the pair might have hidden themselves in only to turn up empty. I reached the end of the street, rubbing the back of my head as I got angier.

I was a PI, damn it. I was supposed to turn up answers, shed light on mysteries. I was _not_ supposed to get my feet knocked out beneath me time after time, only to have those know it all twits show me up at every turn, leading me on with a carrot tied to a stick.

My gumshoe image was not hold up well here in Columbia, and my pride was getting more wounded the more I kept falling on my ass.

 _Okay,_ I thought to myself. _So. What do you do about it? Certainly not whine in the street. Get your footing. Find the girl. Find some_ answers _. Like, to start, how the hell do loan sharks in New York know about a fucking city in the_ sky _?_

That was an excellent question, actually. I found myself in thought as I swept my way down the street, following the signs that led me to the raffle.

On my way there, I saw a sign with a red clawed hand curled threateningly with the letters 'AD' on the back of the palm, burning a fire red. Text on the sign read, "YOU SHALL KNOW THE FALSE SHEPHERD BY HIS MARK."

I looked down at my hand, where the brand would have been.

Nothing there.

 _I'd hate to be that guy, whoever he is_.

I continued on to the raffle.

As I got closer, I could hear people singing some song in unison, though there was one voice that seemed to carry farther than the others of the crowd. I climbed some stairs toward the singing, then descended another set into a grass courtyard surrounded on by hedges, with a stage off to the right. Just beyond the singing crowd, I could see the angel statue, absolutely massive this close.

I started to make my way over there, but as I tried to weave my way through the crowd, more than a few people started to grab at my shoulders in what they must have thought quite a friendly manner. I found it rather off putting and annoying.

So close, yet so far.

The song came to a finish, and a man on stage dressed to the nines with a large top hat and moustache began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, please settle down, settle down now! The raffle will begin in just a few more moments now! Please, get to know and love thy neighbor!" Then he walked off stage, presumably to check if everything were in order.

People around me began to talk to one another. A few tried to come up to me and strike a conversation, but I gave them nothing to work with. I was on the clock.

Eventually, the crowd spit me back out into a more open space where no one seemed to be trying to talk to me. The crowd remained firmly between me and where I needed to go. I scowled at them all, and a few gave me disconcerting looks as they gossiped with their fellows.

"Hey, mister! Over here!"

I turned toward the voice and saw another young woman, dressed very similarly to the other at the fairgrounds that had drugged me with science or whatever. Like the other woman, she had a basket looped around her neck, though this one was filled with what looked like…

 _Baseballs? What kind of raffle…_

She scurried up to me. "The raffles about to start, mister! You should grab a number!"

"Eh, sorry. No sale."

She laughed at me. "You don't have to pay to be in the raffle, silly!"

I gave her a look, then the basket. Then I shrugged and said, "Eh, what the hell." I grabbed a ball from the top of the pile.

"Huh." I showed ball to the woman.

"Oh," she cooed, "Number 77! I'll be rooting for you…" Her voice took a husky intonation that was far more coy than I thought it should have been.

The man from before came back on stage and said, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, the 1912 raffle has _officially_ begun!'

The crowd roared and cheered in excitement, a mounting energy behind their collective voices making my heart begin to speed up.

The man on stage gestured off to the side. "Bring me the bowl!"

A woman came sauntering out with a red and white striped bowl in hand. The crowd roared some more, and as they did the man on stage said, "Is that not just the prettiest young white girl in all of Columbia?!"

The crowd got even louder.

 _What the…_

The man reached into the bowl and pulled out some kind of red card. He read it, and began to speak, adding flare to his voice for dramatic effect. "And the winner of this year's raffle is… Number 77!"

I blinked and looked down at my ball. I guess that was me.

The woman from before suddenly appeared beside me and lifted the arm with the ball in its grasp into the air. "He won! Number 77! He's right here!"

The man on stage turned to look in my direction, quickly glanced at the ball the confirm, then beamed at me. "Number 77! Come and claim your prize!"

From somewhere unseen, a piano began to play something familiar.

A wedding march.

The curtain slowly, agonizingly, pulled up to reveal a pair tied to two individual poles. One was a woman, the other a man. The woman was black. The man was white. Wooden set pieces of jungle grass and trees began to swing into visibility, and a depiction of a hideously characterized monkey that was obviously supposed to be a black man swung from a tree, dressed in a tie and wedding hat, a ring hanging from it's tail.

As the poles with the captive tied to them slowly began to move forward on the stage, my eyes widened in absolute horror.

Then three things happened that made my stomach drop even farther.

Firstly, the man on stage gestured to me and said, "First throw!"

 _Oh no…_

Second, the crowd, all their eyes turned to me, started to sing to the tune of the wedding march.

 _Oh Gods no…_

Third, the couple on stage began to beg for their lives. "Please, please don't do this, it was me, it was all me!" The man cried, and the woman beside him simply wept in terror.

This wasn't a raffle. This was a stoning.

The man in the top hat, the _fucker_ leading this whole thing, turned to look at me with a curious gaze. "What's the matter there, friend? You too scared? Or do you take your coffee _black_ now these days?" Then he laughed, and the crowd, those who weren't still singing to the tune, laughed along with him.

I didn't belong here.

I'm not sure what happened between that moment and the next, but something within me turned red hot in anger and fear. The next thing I knew, I was being slammed against the stage by two officers who were screaming at me, the man on stage was curled up with blood leaking from his nose, and the crowd was roaring again, this time in pure fury.

The officers, still screaming at me about things I wasn't hearing, dragged me off, taking me the way that I had come. I could see the angel behind me get smaller and smaller.

Some of the crowd started to follow in their anger, but another officer came along and shooed them off, saying, "The raffle is still on, everyone! Let us handle this _Vox._ " He said the word like it was some kind of curse that would make me drop dead right there.

My eyes grew wide with that same terror from before, and as the cops pulled me away, I turned to look and saw the crowd began throwing. Screams pierced the air, most in cheer.

But there were two that I heard, just beneath all the hate and noise, that were afraid and in pain.

Seconds later, those screams were cut off, drowning and dying under the volume of hate being thrown at them.

I turned my eyes back front, staring at nothing as I was shoved into what was essentially a cage attached to a cart pulled by one of those mechanical horses.

"I don't belong here," I could hear myself mutter aloud.

One of the officers, before slamming the door to the cage shut, scowled at me. "Buddy, _you're kind_ ain't welcome anywhere in the amazing city." Then there was the heavy slam of the cage door and a jolt of movement, and I was being dragged off somewhere.

Amazing city, he had said.

It had started that way, yeah.

But suddenly this place terrified me.


End file.
